The Egyptian Highwayman
by Draggy2
Summary: Watch for me by moonlight; I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way! RyouBakura An epic one shot and a threatened love. They wouldn’t have the will to watch the window nor the guts to save the one they loved, but Ryou did.


**First a few words:** The Highwayman is a ballad written by Alfred Noyes.  It is one of my _very_ favourite tales.  I obviously do not own it, nor Yugi-oh or their characters.  **IF** you like this tale, or simply the ballad then I have a **suggestion** for you.  This ballad has been made into a song by Loreena McKennitt, 'The Highwayman'.  She sings very beautiful _Celtic_ _songs_ that are just soothing and beautiful to listen to.  I strongly recommend that you search for the song, though I must caution that it is l-o-n-g and therefore may take awhile to download.  If you would like to have other titles by her feel free to ask me and I'll give them freely.  Also, the story follows the ballad only plot deep.  The scenes, settings, characters, placement and timeline are different to suite my story perspective.  Thank you.  As well, when I said _Ryou/Bakura_ I did mean that as a _couple._

This story took a FULL day to write.  From the moment I woke up, around 10 am (plus an hour or two the day before) Till the time I completed, 8:20 pm.  In this time I typed, burned a finger making lunch and had to type one handed with a bag of ice (blast it all .) and shooing a cat away who was constantly trying to steel my chicken!  (Dinner)  Then I proofed after said time, taking longer.  My point to telling you this: one bored brother who hadn't touched the computer all day.  Poor him- lucky you!  ^-^

Highwayman: _ n._ A man who holds up and robs travelers on a road.

The Egyptian Highwayman 

**^***^***^**_Part 1_

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,

The moon was a ghastly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,

The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,

And the highwayman came riding –

Riding – riding –

The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

The howling of the wind echoed softly in his ear, muffled only by the clothes he wore.  Sand swished upwards often testing his endurance but he learned long ago to ignore the scratching of the minute sand on his face, the constant masking of his vision and covering of his cloths.  The sand was apart of the desert and therefore apart of him- he could hold no grudge to it.  Though the wind that blew it there, well that was different.  The wind was absent when he needed it there in the day but chilling him to the bone at night.  The wind was no friend of his but alas he could do naught to it and therefore he must cope with the chill.  

There was more than one thing about the night that he loved.  The moon above the dunes shone so bright and seemed so perfect, the stars a beacon to the weariest traveller, guiding them home.  The glint of the sand when it would catch the glow of the moon just right and the- well, he guessed it mattered naught for the clouds obscured most of the sky this night.  Perhaps it was a bad omen- perhaps not.  Either way the sky was off-limits to him.  One place he had no control over but that suited him fine.  He had more to do than wonder at the uncontrollable, he had a place to be, someone to see.

He scourged the beast beneath him onwards, he was indeed anxious to see his love this night.  It had been a fortnight since last they had met, and that meeting ending all too soon.  He could not risk his love's safety, no matter how he yearned to see him.  His silver haired lover was everything to him, _everything_ and one day soon he will take his love away, and they would be together, safe and forever.  

With his thoughts distracted thus the highwayman soon found himself closing near the inn.  To see the joy in his loves eyes when he rode near, it was a moment he greatly looked forward to.  The inn was built of stone, like many to all buildings that exist and stood two stories high; it had guest rooms up on the second, a tavern on the ground and a storeroom among other things in the basement.  It was a fair place to be, not the best and not the worst.  A place he once went and lost his heart to a serving boy…

He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,

A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doeskin:

They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to the thigh!

And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,

            His pistol butts a-twinkle,

His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

His outfit was every bit as practical to one in his profession.  He wore a heavy cloak that covered his shoulders well, the thick fabric climbed his face, covering his neck and rose to almost his nose.  The sand stayed out of his mouth and his face was hidden well, it acted as a mask for his voice and he loved the garment for itself.  His shirt was light and breezy; made of such finely woven linen that he himself forgets it is even there at times.  Tiny stitch-work patterns cover his cuffs, the design superbly made.  He wore boots of crocodile skin and his gloves protected his skilled hands well.  

The house of his love, his sweet, sweet love was not far now, a few more minutes at best.  How his heart contracted in his chest for just the few moments he could stay with him.  _Just _a few.  But all that will change; _he_ will change that.  The highwayman urged the desert-trained animal beneath him onwards.  Just a glance would satisfy his yearning, and the sound of his love's voice calling to him and him alone would soothe his soul and give him courage for eternity.  

The silent blades attached to his waist made no sound as he rode the camel, he had long ago placed extra fabric at his sides to silent each and every movement he or the camel made.  The scimitars were deadly, that was true, but the blades were death when in his hands.  He controlled the curved blades most expertly and has found no one that matched his skill.  A dagger was wisely hidden in his boot, there for protection in case all else fails.  His profession wasn't exactly… safe.  At all.  It was a wonder his love tolerated him and his lifestyle, but he did and he was eternally grateful for that.  

His cowl blew freely behind him as he rode, his mouth turning into a smile and his swords clattered silently on his waist.  The moon shone through the clouds and to Bakura it seemed as if it shone on the inn of his love, guiding him to him. He indulged himself and allowed the wind to sweep across his face before he made it near.  They were together again.  Their love eternal, one that would last forever and their joy would too, just as soon as he got his love away from this place.  Then, all would be right.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the old-inn yard,

And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and bared:

He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there

But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,

            Bess, the landlord's daughter,

Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

He slowed his pace as he drew near, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention.  It was not safe- oh; he knew it wasn't safe for both of them.  He should not be here, should not frequent one place, much less an inn who could be housing anyone, even bounty hunters, or Pharaoh's guards or anyone else after him.  But he could not deny that he placed his love in danger as well.  But… he could not stay away, nor had the will power to break his love's heart… or his own for that matter.  

So, silently he made his way to the window that belonged to his lover's room, where his sweet would be.  He had done this many a time before and planned to do it many a time more.  The window was locked and indeed barred, no surprise there, his love was just to irresistible and sure enough had caught many an eye, but it was Bakura who had thankfully caught his love's gaze. 

Bakura looked up for only a moment before he could resist no longer and pulling down the high collared cloak he put two fingers in his mouth and whistled.  He dared not make the sound loud, only a soft, sweet tune that would bring his love's attention to his presence.  And sure enough, within mere seconds he heard movement in the room above, someone was scurrying.  The highwayman heard each lock and bolt being hastily drawn away and then- then his love looked out the window, his gaze instantly meeting Bakura's.  

"…Ryou."  Bakura couldn't help but whisper the name that had clouded his mind and thoughts since the day they had met.  Ryou, the silver haired angel that rightly plagued his dreams at night.  His love looked as though he had retired for the night for he was dressed in the garment used for sleeping.  The outfit was white- a sign of purity that fitted his love like the stars do the night sky.  The shirt was loose and long sleeved but it made him look the angel he truly was.  Without seeing he knew that the same breezy fabric covered Ryou's legs, leaving much space to breathe, though he would not be wearing anything on his feet.  He knew all this with certainty.  He knew his love.

The tears that sprang from Ryou's eyes were of little surprise.  His angel had been worried about him and the tears mealy showed him how happy Ryou was to see him.  His love smiled down at him and wiped his eyes clear with his sleeve.  Bakura managed to hear the soft whisper of, "I've missed you" from his love.  And he knew it was true, so true.  "And I you."  He responded back.  The two looked at each other in amazement that they were together once again.  They memorized each other's faces for the lonely nights ahead.

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked

Where Tim, the ostler, listened; his face was white and peaked.

His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay;

But he loved the landlord's daughter,

            The landlord's red-lipped daughter:

Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say – 

In a darkened corner, not too far from the front of the inn, someone slowly creaked open the stable door, eyes peered out to attempt the impossible and see the landlord's son for the watcher knew that on some nights, when the moon is bright the silver-haired boy would unlock his window and peer out to the stars, often watching the road for hours, head resting on his sill with a far off look in his pure brown eyes.  This often gave the watcher ample time to simply watch his love daydream.  About what- he never knew, never knew there was another who loved his Ryou.  _His_ silver haired moon watcher.  

And today he was lucky, the window was unbarred and Ryou was- was- who was his secreted love talking to?  A bandit?  A lowlife?  Surely not.  His Ryou would never associate with such lowlifes.   But the fiend was obviously such.  Curious the stable boy peered out a bit more to catch the snippets of conversation.  The fiend must have blackmailed Ryou - he must have threatened him.   

The head that poked out had hair that would have been of honey-gold blonde but instead was covered in dirt from his hard days toil; it was now matted, knotted and sweaty.  The honey-coloured strands forced to endure his hard labours blight.  His face was clean, having washed it quickly with a bucket and cloth.  The stable boy was tall and understandably handsome, catching many an eye when at work.  But his eyes were for only the landlord's son, his silver haired son.  And right now that's where they rested.  But not on him alone for there was another this night.  Another who made Ryou's eyes sparkle like never he could; who made the landlord's sons' smile show happiness like never the stable boy had ever seen.

He was called Jou and right now his heart seemed on the verge of shattering to a million pieces.  This wasn't right, this couldn't be happening.  He loved Ryou, always had and always will.  He could not give up.  The silver haired angel that watched the inn, that was so kind to him and all others, that had such a deep and giving heart, surely there was a place in that endless pit for him.  And the thief, the rogue- he would shatter that fragile heart with not a care.  He shouldn't be here, shouldn't be in the company of one so pure.  

Jou's mind was running in circles, thinking of idiotic solutions that wouldn't work, he loved Ryou, but as long as that fiend was playing with Ryou's heart… If only there was a way to save his love, if only some miracle… but then the rogue said something, something that sent Jou's mind flying and his heart hope.  He knew what he must do!  He knew it with a certainty, now there _was_ something he could do to save his secret love…  The clouds shifted above and the stable boy was cast into shadow. 

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight,

But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.

Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,

Then look for me by moonlight,

            Watch for me by moonlight:

I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."

The highwayman looked up at the sparkling eyes of his love, loving the way they shone only for him.  At last he could not resist and asked for the simple permission of a single kiss.  Ryou flashed another smile, so bright and beautiful Bakura wished his lips were touching his love's at that very moment- saddened only by the fact he would be hiding that beautiful smile.  His love nodded but before he could seal their love with a new kiss he had to tell his love the good news.  "I shall be at work again this night, fear not for I shall be on my utmost wary in any sign of danger.  Soon we shall be away together my love.  The gold that I steal this night will ensure that."  Seeing his lovers' eyes dim a little filled Bakura's heart with worry.  It would have to be soon, they have been apart for far too long already.  Scarcely seeing each other on the nights that it _was_ safe. 

"Don't worry, it will not be another fortnight when we see each other again.  I will return before the sun rises this coming morning and put your mind at ease on my safety."  Seeing his love's eyes suddenly shine Bakura continued, not wanting any worry to cross his lovers' mind.  "And if I am being chased, then I will lose them quickly and I'll be back in the moonlight, just like always, just like I am tonight, coming only for you.  I will return to your arms soon, my love, I wish to be nowhere else."  Ryou seemed at ease with these words and in truth that also calmed Bakura.  "Nothing could keep me away.  Not even the window of Hell."

He rose upright in the stirrups, he scarce could reach her hand;

But she loosened her hair i' the casement!  His face burnt like a brand

As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;

And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,

            (Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight)

Then he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.

Having said his words of comfort, to both his love and himself the highwayman elegantly stood on top of his camel.  His balance more than superb.  He did not teeter one way or slip and almost fall.  He simply balanced himself on the Camels' hump.  Ryou leaned out of his window, his silver night hair falling over his shoulders and brushed against the cloaked figures hands.  He could feel their soft supple locks and could scarcely wait to kiss.

His cape billowed out in the wind; he looked every bit a deadly prince waiting outside his lover's balcony.  The sand shifted beneath the camel's hooves but he held perfectly still.  The scimitars reflected the light of the moon as his own white hair moved with the wind.  

His hand touched the softness of his love's cheek and ever so gently he pulled Ryou closer.  Both closed their eyes as their lips met for the first time in a fortnight, awhile far too long for both of them.  Sand danced around them as their tongues danced that of a passionate and thirsty kiss that came to a close all too soon.  Smiling softly Bakura ran his fingers through Ryou's soft tendrils; pulling a strand up to his mouth he gently kissed it, allowing a finger to gently stroke Ryou's cheek.  Ryou leaned into the touch, closing his eyes in perfect harmony and peace.  They both wished for more nights like this.  They yearned for it, their very hearts and souls wished for it.  But for now they could wait- they would have to.  It was only a short while yet that they had to wait before they could be together and happy for the rest of their lives.  Until then, they would be patient and enjoy their scarce time together.

Just like tonight.

Bakura regretfully pulled his hand away; he quickly lowered himself to his seat.  He was about to kick start his camel when Ryou said "wait" and disappeared from view.  He returned seconds later, holding something in his hand.  "I know I'll see you soon, but I cannot wait to give you this."  He dropped something and Bakura caught it.  Without even looking at it- there was no need, he held the object tight and over his chest.  Flashing a smile upwards he dashed west, his hand still smelling faintly of Ryou's hair.

**^***^***^**_Part 2_

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;

And out of the tawny sunset, before the wise o' the moon,

When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,

A red-coat troop came marching – 

            Marching – marching – 

King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

Ryou could scarcely sleep, in case he should be asleep still when his love would ride and he had not waken.  He stayed up the entire night, barely moving from his window.  He watched the highwayman ride away into the desert night, his heavy cloak falling behind.  It was a sight to see but he was determined to watch as his love came to him, not away.  After an hour had passed, and the stars were still shining bright Ryou knew it was till dawn he waited, and dawn was awhile off yet.  He bathed in the light of the moon.  Though the stable boy was nowhere to be found so he had to heat the water himself.  He filled the tub and undressing eased himself in the hot water.  He decided to use herbs that left a lingering scent, faint but there nonetheless.  He scrubbed his silver locks clean, not a dust of dirt was hidden in his hair by the time he was done with it.  After, he re-dressed in his loose white sleeping garments.  He had soaked for a while, allowing time to slowly pass in a pleasing manner while his thoughts strayed nought but on his highwayman.  

By the time the stars had faded and the sun was about to wise Ryou had comfortably seated himself at his window.  His Bakura would come to him by the west; he would watch his love come.  But the sun rose and though Ryou took his eyes away from the road naught he had seen no signs of Bakura.  Did something go wrong?  Was his love safe?  Would- would he be all right?  Able to come to him as promised?  His hair was still damp, drying slowly by the sweet air.

His hair was dried and his father worried, he refused to budge from his window.  His father sent lunch up to his room and Ryou picked at it, never budging from the window.  Bakura was going to come; he had never lied, and would not start now.  His Bakura, his highwayman, his love, he would come, Ryou would stake his life on that.  He would come for him, the rest of the world be damned.

But noon came and went.  Dinner was sent up, and again Ryou merely picked at it.  Eyes still not straying from the road.  Bakura would come- he had promised so Ryou would wait, and wait he did.  The sun started to set, casting the world into a hue of roses- or blood… Ryou leaned out the window.  Bakura would come this night.  He had said he would come again, and again he would come.  Ryou sat and waited.  Tears left unshed in his eyes, he had no reason to cry because his love would come.  He would come and they would spend their lives together in happiness.  

Then Ryou saw it, something moving on the road, something was coming!  It was Bakura!  His love was on his way at last!  Ryou smiled and started to fret, he was still in his simple loose white pyjamas, they were pretty, and finely woven- a gift from his love before he departed that fortnight ago.  Ryou had slept in them every single night since, at one time they had faintly smelled like his love and on that night he fell asleep with his arms wrapped around his chest, hoping that one night Bakura would do the same and hold him as he slept.

But something was wrong.  That wasn't his highwayman.  That definitely wasn't his Bakura.  He could not see too well for someone_s_ were coming, they were just shadows in the far distant, mere specs.  The waning light blinded them from mere sight.  Ryou watched as the figures came forward, there were around fifteen of them and as each and every one of them came closer he suddenly realised who they were.  Each man came riding on a horse, a grand desert stallion.  They seemed to be in a hurry.  He could hear others downstairs scurrying, from his window Ryou could see the stables and hence he saw at least eight men take their beasts and ride off east, the opposite direction that the horsed men were coming in.  

Ryou jumped from his seat and ran to his door.  His father would know already.  Ryou grabbed the piece of wood that blocked his door so none could open it and placed it on the hooks just as Pharaoh's men dismounted.  Their horses taken by the stable boy.  Ryou raced back to his window and desperately searched the road.  Oh lucky Ra!  His love was not coming.  Thank the gods, thank every last one of the gods!

They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead;

But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.

Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!

There was death at every window;

            And Hell at one dark window;

For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that _he_ wouldride_._

Pharaoh's men entered the inn.  They were dressed in white and gold, swords were attached to sashes at their wastes and half of them carried crossbows.  None looked too happy, it seemed as if they had travelled through the day.  When they entered the inn they ignored the landlord and went behind the counter to get the booze.  The landlord protested but his attempts were futile for the men did not heed a word he said.  Half the men went upstairs, a glass of beer in all their hands.  They searched the rooms, knocking down doors.  The men downstairs indulged in more than just one beer.

They then came to Ryou's door, but he had boarded it.  They could not get in.  The men kicked, knocked and rattled the door, demanding that the person inside opens up this instant.  Ryou did not budge from the window.  His eyes stayed glued on the west road.  He now feared that Bakura would indeed come.  

The men eventually used their swords and cut through the wood, splinters everywhere but they had gotten in.  Only then did Ryou turn away from the window.  The men grabbed him though he attempted to escape.  In his struggle Ryou could feel his arms bruising as two men held him down, a gag had somehow found its way into Ryou's mouth and he nearly choked.  He was forcibly pulled upwards his hands tied behind his back with a tight itching robe that cut him every time he moved his wrists; his legs were also quickly tied, within a minute Ryou was made useless.  He was tied to the post of his bed.  He could not speak, he could not move, he was useless.

Two of Pharaoh's men came to either side of him.  They had finished the beer in their hands before the struggle.  Ryou could see the crossbows, and he could see the swords.  He could see the road that his love would ride to him; he could see death through that window.  He could see death.  

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest:

They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!

"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her.

            She heard the dead man say – 

_Look for me by moonlight;_

_            Watch for me by moonlight;_

_I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way!_

Ryou made not a sound as they laughed at him, as they made their sly and stupid jokes.  His eyes stayed on the window.  The window Bakura would ride to him through, the window he would see his love die.  His precious highwayman, their future… their happiness…

Ryou's thoughts were covered in despair and he didn't know what the men around him were doing.  He only started to pay attention as the snickering increased and he felt something cold against his chest.  He could not see it, not really, but he felt the tip of an arrow, it was sharp and cold- cold as death.  One of the men grabbed his face by squishing his cheeks together and forcing him to look forward, forced him to look out the window.  The window of death.

Ryou's head was forced forward, his body stayed tied.  His back arched, already growing stiff, and even if they didn't force him too Ryou would watch that window.  To see his love just one more time…

"Now keep good watch!"  The one holding his head proclaimed, the others laughing and sniggering as if this was all a joke.  Ryou would have spat in the guys face if he had not been bound so.  Though he still wished to kick them all!  They had no idea what turmoil they were placing on the boy in front of them.  They would not sit so calmly in the same situation.  If they're loved one was gagged and bound- forced to watch their death, no- these men were all fools, terrible, horrid fools.  They wouldn't have the strength not to cry, they wouldn't have the strength not to whimper or flinch when one of _their_ captors touched them.  They wouldn't have the will to watch the window nor the guts to save the one they loved.

Another man grabbed Ryou by his cheeks much like the other guy- or perhaps they were the same.  "You're going to see him die this night," the man whispered in his ear, the group chuckled and laughed.  Ryou wanted to deny that he would even come, he wanted to protect his love, but he could not even speak.  And then the guy pressed his mouth to Ryou's and Ryou struggled, twisted and wreathed in his bindings, itching to slap the guy across his face for his deed!  He finally let go of Ryou's lips and for once Ryou was thankful of the binding, no tongue could enter his mouth.  

The men laughed and joked at Ryou's reaction but did not touch him again.  Instead they calmed down, switching every now and then with the men downstairs to drink his father's liquor.  But now his love's words rang clearly in his head.  He could hear them so clearly…

_"I'll be back in the moonlight, just like always, just like I am tonight, coming only for you." _ Oh, but if his Bakura came for him this night than no one would be to blame for his death but Ryou…

_"Nothing could keep me away.  Not even the window of Hell."_  But something would keep him away, his words plagued Ryou's mind.  The window of Hell was here Bakura, and Ryou was looking right through it.  Sweat trickling down his face.  Bakura couldn't die; he shouldn't die!  Not for him.  His eyes were alert, unlike the men Pharaoh had sent to kill his love.  Ryou watched the window with angst anxiety.  How had they known!  How did they know?  _"I will return to your arms soon, my love, I wish to be nowhere else."_  But anywhere else was better than with Ryou!  He couldn't allow this to happen.  

_They wouldn't have the will to watch the window nor the guts to save the one they loved._

She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!

She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!

They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years;

Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,

            Cold on the stroke of midnight,

The tip of one finger touched it!  The trigger at least was hers!

The men weren't paying any attention to him; Ryou knew they were tired.  They had ridden the day to get here and had done nothing but drink the ale.  The men were active downstairs; Ryou could hear their clatter and their talking.  Only two men remained up in his room and they were playing cards on his table, not watching him, not watching the window.

Ryou struggled to grab a hold of the trigger.  He had been struggling with it for hours, but the men had not noticed, Ryou's gaze had stayed steady and on the window.  He had not slept in a full days time now, but he wasn't the least bit tired.  At first the task seemed next to impossible, to even touch the trigger was out of his reach, but Ryou was determined and as long as his love was away then he still had time to save him.

It had taken many an hour of struggling and twisting and shifting before Ryou had finally gotten hold of that blasted trigger.  The rope was sharp, it cut into his skin, and each time Ryou had twisted he could feel the rope digging into his hands.  Now he knew they had definitely surpassed the flesh on his wrists.  Cut them deep in.  It was very painful.  

Ryou had been struggling for the longest of time; all sense of time was lost, though the sky gave him a notion.  When the clocks in the inn stroke midnight that was when he had _finally_ gotten hold of the trigger.  

… They wouldn't have the will to watch the window nor the guts to save the one they loved.

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!

Up, she stood to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,

She would not risk their hearing: she would not strive again;

For the road lay bare in the moonlight,

Blank and bare in the moonlight;

And the blood in her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her Love's refrain.

They greatly underestimated the will of love, and the strength of his and Bakura's love.  They underestimated it all.  Ryou stopped his constant struggle; there was now no need for any more pain on his behalf.  To move further might actually catch their attention and he could not have that, not after all the trouble he went through.  He could not risk Bakura's life.  

When the men got up to switch with their pals downstairs Ryou rightened himself, giving him a better view out of Hells window, and there was more chance that Bakura would take heed of the warning.  Ryou watched quiet as ever the road that _he _would ride.

But there was not a soul, not a single soul on that road this night.  Nobody came, nobody left.  The road was quiet and still, but Bakura would tread along that road, Ryou knew he would come, he had said so, it was not a chance that he wouldn't.  But still… Ryou could hope his lover would keep his distance, would fail to come this night.  Mayhap he was mildly injured and couldn't travel this night.  Hours ago that was the very thing Ryou feared, but now… now he had to hope that his love would not set a foot on that road.  Perhaps… ever.

The road stayed silent and still.  Ryou was chilled to the bone.  'Please don't come, please don't come, please don't come…'  If his love did not come… 'please my love, my light, please do not come this night!'

_Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot!_  Had they heard it?  The horse-hoofs ringing clear – 

_Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot_, in the distance?  Were they deaf that they did not hear?

Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,

The highwayman came riding,

            Riding, riding!

The red-coats looked to their priming!  She stood up straight and still!

But the landlord's son's plea failed, as off in the distance he saw it, a dark speck in the night, his love was riding nearer, and nearer.  The hooves of the camel beneath him steadily coming closer and closer.  They both came straight into view.  Ryou froze as his heart stilled.  This had been what he was waiting for; this was what he had wished to see.  '_It was a sight to see but he was determined to watch as his love came to him, not away'._ But now all Ryou wanted to see was his love going in the opposite direction!  'Go!  Go now!'  But his love couldn't know what awaited him here this night.  He couldn't know…

The bound and gagged hostage stayed perfectly still though his heart was thumping wildly in his chest.  His eyes did not blink; he refused to close his eyes for even one single second.  This was the last he would see his love alive.  The last chance to see him riding proud and strong!  He was getting closer now, the hooves of the camel easily audible- but Pharaoh's guards had not noticed.  Their sharp swords gleamed but their attention was split.  Ryou watched in horror as his love approached.  And then- then they heard it too.

The men had stopped their conversation.  Shushing each other as they held still.  Ryou dared not move- dared not draw their attention to himself.  Though he watched, blood ice cold, as the men moved towards the window.  And they could see his love too; they knew he was coming.  One of the guys turned and flashed the silver haired captive a crooked smile, "look who comes for you.  Enjoy the spectacle, eh."  The other had ran downstairs to warn his fellow men in arms.  But Ryou just stayed still and watched the window.  He could hear some of the men rushing up the stairs, the others preparing to kill his love should he make it to the building alive.  Ryou grabbed all his will, and stood straight up.  He remained perfectly still, eyes cast on the well-known figure quickly making his way closer and closer!

The guard paid no mind, assuming the boy only wanted to see what was to happen.  Ryou stood, straight and still!

_Tlot-tlot_, in the frosty silence!  _Tlot-tlot_ in the echoing night!

Nearer he came and nearer!  Her face was like a light!

Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,

Then her finger moved in the moonlight,

            Her musket shattered the moonlight,

Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him – with her death.

His love rode nearer and nearer, with each and every second he was in more danger.  Ryou watched him in the moonlight, the last thing he would ever see.  His love, his hope, and the holder of his heart- he was down there, in danger because of Ryou.  Because he was bait.  Because they had fallen in love.  Bakura should not die because he had loved him!

The silver-haired boy's face was as pale as the foreign substance called snow.   His heart was racing; beating a million times a second, and his love was drawing closer.  Ryou smiled faintly- it was a grim smile, but a smile nonetheless knowing he would thwart their plans and his love _would_ live! 

With not so much as a warning Ryou drew his last long breathe, eyes trained on the figure drawing nearer and then he shifted his body and at last his finger moved.  He hit the trigger.  And then he died.  The arrow sliced though his chest, he gave one last strangled cry- his eyes closing, no longer strong nor able to see his proud and noble love.  

The arrow sliced right though him, and moved slicing at the air, it went right through the window and landed on the ground out there.  

He turned; he spurred to the Westward; he did not know who stood

Bowed with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!

Not till the dawn he heard it, and slowly blanched to hear

How Bess, the landlord's daughter,

            The landlord's black-eyed daughter,

Had watched for her Love in the moonlight; and died in the darkness there.

The Highwayman moved forward with thoughts of his silver-haired angel wrapped tight in his warm arms.  That's when he heard the whistle of an arrow.  Halting his camel in his tracks Bakura stood silent and listened as the unmistakable _thud _of an arrow landing rang clear in his ear.  He twisted the camel quickly, and raced back the way he came, the whistles of arrow after arrow urging him forward and away.  

He had stayed at an inn away from his love.  He was fine, not a scratch marred his body, but he couldn't help but worry about his Ryou.  Was he okay?  Did somebody hurt him?  …But none knew where the highwayman disappeared to those nights, no one knew of their connection.  It was okay, Ryou would be fine; it was probably just some punks trying to bag the reward for his capture.  There aim was terrible.  

But even these facts weren't enough to calm the turmoil in his heart, what if Ryou _was_ injured?  He was too lost in though that he had not recognized the fellow highwayman who sat beside him.  Marik was muttering words of comfort, for it had become common knowledge by the morning of the tragic tale of the landlord's only son.  Marik had picked up a long time ago that his friend and comrade in… work, had indeed fallen in love.  

Bakura had finally realised his friend was there, and offering him a drink.  Bakura accepted, though thought it was just because he was down that his friend treated him.  "It'll all be okay, Bakura, it will."  Malik came and sat down beside Marik who wrapped his arm around Malik's waist.  "What's eating him?"  Malik whispered to Marik, though Bakura could well hear their conversation since he was sitting so close.  "Shush Malik, he has just lost his love."  He had no idea that his words caused Bakura's sudden stiffness.  "Oh."  Malik was silent and staring down at the concrete floor.

Bakura looked at his fellow highwayman and shakily asked, "What?  What did you… just… say."

"I thought you said he knew…"

"Knew _what_?"

"Oh Ra, Bakura, Bakura listen, listen to me carefully.  We- we have to tell you something, something you should know.  We didn't- had we known that you hadn't known, we would have told you, Bakura.  We would have, truly-"

Bakura's blood was running cold and he suddenly felt at unease.  "...Tell me?  Tell me what I don't know, Marik?  What is it?"  

"It- it concerns Ryou…"

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,

With the white road smoking behind him, and his rapier brandished high!

Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;

When they shot him down on the highway,

            Down like a dog on the highway,

And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

The highwayman raced back to the inn where his love laid dead.  He raced as fast as he could, urging his camel onward, faster than ever he had forced the animal before.  They would pay; those bastards would pay!  Their lives would be forfeit on his scimitar blades!  He would send each and every one of their heartless souls to hell- be it the last thing he ever did.

He rode with filthy curses covering his every breath; his mind was a jumble and a whirlwind of death.  His thoughts were clouded with rage and he was madder than a dog.  His Ryou, his love was gone… gone… forever….

He was determined to see his love one last and final time, to get his chance to tell him how much he had cared about him- how much he forever would care.  …Their love… was… eternal.

So Bakura stalked inside the inn, and who should be there, but the ratty old Pharaoh's troops drinking their troubles away.  Well now, if they wanted a chance for Bakura's head, then they bloody as hell got one.  He drew the Scimitars with deadly silence and charged inside the inn.  Within a minute five men lay dead on the floor, limbs and blood everywhere, their screams acting as beautiful music to the highwayman's ears.  He advanced past the mourning landlord and up the stairs, killing one drunkard who was asleep there.

Upon seeing the chopped up door of his lover the highwayman raced forward, squeezing through himself, and there, laid on his bed was his love Ryou, looking so much like he was sleeping.  Bakura noticed that Ryou wore the white linen pyjamas he had given him in what now seemed so far away.  He looked at peace, still and calm.  And if Bakura looked hard enough, he could see the remnants of a smile faded. 

Peering around and seeing no one Bakura moved swiftly to the side of his love's bed.  He gently touched Ryou's soft red hair and wiped the blood from his face.  The bastards of Pharaoh's probably wouldn't allow Ryou's own father to tend to the dead.  At least they put him on a bed, even as bloody as he was.  Bakura's anger still seethed but it had calmed.  He brought something out of his pocket, a silver chain with a moon pendent at the end.  On the back it read: I wait in the moonlight.  He placed the chain around Ryou's lifeless neck.  Ryou was… dead… he was really… dead.  

Bakura sat beside his love and brought him into his arms, then waited.  Their love was eternal…

An arrow shot through the splintered wood of the door and pieced the highwayman's heart.  His head drooped.  As he died a faint smile crossed his face and he hugged his love even closer 

…they faintly smelled like his love and on that night he fell asleep with his arms wrapped around his chest, hoping that one night Bakura would do the same and hold him as he slept.

_And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,_

_When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,_

_When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,_

_A highwayman comes riding – _

_            Riding – riding – _

_A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door._

_The howling of the wind echoed softly in his ear, muffled only by the clothes he wore.  Sand swished upwards often testing his endurance but he had learned long ago to ignore the scratching of the minute sand on his face, the constant masking of his vision and covering of his cloths.  The sand was apart of the desert and therefore apart of him- he could hold no grudge to it.  Though the wind that blew it there, well that was different.  The wind chilled him to the bone at night, for he was no longer welcome in the day, so it seemed.   The wind was no friend of his but alas he could do naught to it and therefore he must cope with the chill.  _

_He scourged the beast beneath him onwards, he was indeed anxious to see his love this night.  His silver haired lover was everything to him; everything, and they were finally together, safe and forever.  _

_With his thoughts distracted thus the highwayman soon found himself closing near the inn.  To see the joy in his loves eyes when he rode near, it was a moment he greatly looked forward to.  The inn was built of stone, like many to all buildings that had once existed and stood two stories high; it had had guest rooms up on the second floor, though now it was starting to cave in, and a tavern on the ground floor, all the kegs long since run dry.  And a storeroom among other things in the basement, though now that was all but empty.  It was once a fair place to be, not the best and not the worst.  A place he once went and lost his heart to a serving boy…_

_Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;_

_And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and bared:_

_He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there_

_But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,_

_            Bess, the landlord's daughter,_

_Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair._

_He slowed his pace as he drew near, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention.  It was safe here, oh; he knew it was safe for both of them.  He should have come earlier for none frequented this old place.  He could not deny that this place was finally safe.  He could not stay away, and that suited him just fine, it suited his love just fine as well._

_So, silently, he made his way to the window that belongs to his lover's room, where his sweet would be awaiting his arrival.  He did this many a time before and plans on doing it many a time more.  The window was locked and indeed barred, no surprise there, his love was just practical, and luckily it was Bakura who had caught his love's gaze all those years ago._

_Bakura looked up for only a moment before he could resist no longer and pulled down the high collared cloak that rested around his neck.  He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled.  He can dare to make any sound, any sound he chooses but of course he chose a soft, sweet tune that brings his love's attention to his presence immediately.  And sure enough, within mere seconds movement was heard in the room above, someone was scurrying.  The highwayman heard each lock and bolt being hastily drawn away and then- then his love looked out the window, his gaze instantly meeting Bakura's.  _

_"…Ryou."  Bakura couldn't help but whisper the name that had clouded his mind and thoughts since the day they had met and parted.  His love still wore the sleeping garment he had given him eons ago.  It was still the perfect shade of white - a sign of purity that fitted his love like the stars do the night sky.  The shirt was loose and long sleeved but it made him look the angel he truly was.  Without seeing he knew that the same breezy fabric covered Ryou's legs, leaving much space to breathe, though he would not be wearing anything on his feet.  He knew all this with certainty.  He knew his love._

_His love smiled down at him, his sweet calming smile.  The moon necklace he had once given Bakura dangles precariously around his neck.  The highwayman managed to hear the soft whisper of, "I've missed you" from his love.  And he knew it was true, so true.  "And I you," he responded back.  The two looked at each other in amazement that they were together once again.  They memorized each other's faces though there were very few lonely nights ahead.  _


End file.
